How to Savour Time

When I think on the kindness of strangers, I always imagine the little old gent in the supermarket, just off the tram tracks, in Thornbury, Melbourne. It's a simple story - a short story. No grand gestures, or desperate times. No rescue. Our interaction lasted just moments but it has stuck with me for years. His words have become a little mantra of mine in frustrating circumstances. A sentence I didn’t know I needed to hear.

On the day I met him, I had loads of shopping; enough food for the week, all hanging off my arms in bags; the way you do when you have to catch the tram home and a trolley might trick you into buying more than you can carry. I wasn’t in a rush when I shuffled in line behind the little old gent waiting for the cashier.

He would have been in his late eighties, barely pushing five foot, soft and crumpled but with an upright spine and dapper dress. He sported a grey tartan suit, polished tan shoes and combed silver hair. The kind of guy who probably still used a pocket watch. "Please," he gestured to me with a slightly shaking hand, "you go first." I looked down at his trolley. He only had a couple of items, far fewer than me; some scotch biscuits, a bag of candy and a bulk pack of matches. "Are you sure?" I asked, managing to lift my bags slightly in a 'bro, I'm going to take ages here' kind of gesture.

He smiled at me - a wide, gentle, joyful smile. "I have so much time," he beamed. He said it in the way you or I might say "I won the lottery," or "I got the big promotion," or "My sister just had a healthy baby."

I have soooo much time. Like it was a secret he couldn't wait to tell a friend. Like it was a big bowl of ice-cream. Like it was some blind luck he just wanted to share. A pocket full of smooth stones, or a baby duckling.

His is the creased, peaceful smile I’ve carried with me interstate; away from the big city. His are the words I still repeat under my breath all these years later when I'm late for work, or waiting for traffic to let me in, or I'm stuck in line behind a big trolley when I only have a few items myself. When everything seems to hinge on one moment and it feels like time is running out, or when I worry about growing older. I have so much time.

It was a gift he gave me- the kind of gift that is so rare; the gift of being happy in a moment and letting it spill out to those around. The gift of giving what little you can give, even if it’s just a place in line to someone who might have less time. A little moment he could have kept to himself but decided to share. He broke through the customs of letting elders go first, of letting those with less shopping go first. His respect for me was jarring. I don’t think he disapproved of young people, and that has had a surprisingly powerful effect on the respect I have for myself.

Maybe life is too short, or maybe I've been looking at it wrong. When I actually stop and weigh it, I also have so much time. When everything in life is trying to convince me that it’s limited, that it’s running out, I try to savour it with all the joy of the little old gent in the supermarket - just off the tram tracks - in Thornbury, Melbourne.